


to the sound of smashing yesterdays

by wariangle



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/F, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An apocryphal rendering  of Arika/Uriel's backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the sound of smashing yesterdays

**I.** _volition decides the future as the authors all agree_ ****

On the nights when sleep evades her, Arika has taken to walking through the empty echoing hallways of what is usually referred to as the Gallery. It is a well-kept secret outside of Helena's walls, that Arika's abode holds what she surmises is the largest collection of art left in this world. The walls are all but cluttered with paintings and the corridors made labyrinthine by the sculptures filling them up. It has a calming effect on her, walking around among what once was considered humankind's greatest creations, now stuffed together in as if in a cluttered attic, willfully forgotten and ignored. How the world has changed.

Watched only by the serene faces of humans and mythological creatures alike, it is easy to let her thoughts flow freely. The south wall needs to be fortified, there is an deal for iron to be made with a contact in what used to be Canada, and an inspection of their food supply waiting to be done, but right here and now she drops her duties as Queen for a little while.

Unlike most people, Arika never mourned for the world that was. Where others saw ruin and despaired, she envisioned what could be built from the rubble. Where others saw an ending, she saw rebirth - _change_ \- and Helena rose from the ashes. But she keeps the past ever close, refusing to forget what it used to be like, and takes every step possible to protect and preserve Helena.

Her haika brushes against a statue of Aphrodite and at first she thinks that the faint sound she hears comes from the stone, but then she stills, holding her breath, to listen more closely. A cold shiver slithers down her spine as she hears unfamiliar steps echo in the very heart of Helena.

The gun she always keeps hidden beneath the folds of her dress is a comforting weight in her hand as she creeps forward, her steps silent on the marble floor.

“I mean you no harm,” a female voice says, the words loud in the silent night.

With the gun at the ready and her fingertip pressed lightly but sure to the trigger, Arika takes a deep breath and steps around the corner.

“It is not my own safety I fear for,” Arika says, pointing the gun straight at the woman's forehead. She is dressed for war - a tall, regal figure seemingly well capable of handling the sword at her hip.

“No, of course not,” the woman says. “Your concern is, understandably, for this treasure trove of a city.” Long, graceful fingers reach out to touch the gilded frame of a Picasso painting reverently.

“How did you come past the walls?” Arika asks. Her wrist is beginning to ache, but she forces it to remain steady, unwilling to appear weak in front of this intruder.

“Do not blame your guards,” the woman says without turning from the painting. “I have many tricks up my sleeves.”

“Who are you?”

The woman turns her head to look at Arika and smiles. “Uriel,” she says, making the name sound almost like an title.

Fear grips Arika's heart, but her face does not betray as much as a flicker. An archangel within Helena's walls. Is the city already surrounded by dogs of heaven throwing themselves at her fortifications?

“I am not here to harm Helena,” Uriel says, her smile softening, as if she can read Arika's mind. Perhaps she does. “Quite the opposite.” She turns to face Arika fully. “You do not prey for the savior to step forward. Do you imagine yourself unbound by the word of Father?”

If Uriel wishes to discuss theology, Arika will gladly oblige her. She lowers the gun, but keeps it at her side. “God had a plan for this world,” she says. “A vision I did not share. He has left the human realm behind and so I surmise we are free to recreate it however we wish.”

“Hybris is a dangerous trait in a mortal,” Uriel says.

“In gods as well, it seems,” Arika replies and Uriel laughs.

She takes a step closer to Arika. “I am here to offer your city my protection.”

Arika is seldom taken by surprise, but Uriel's words are the last thing she expected to hear from an archangel. She rises an eyebrow. “And what would be your gain?”

The question is playful, said in a teasing manner, but Uriel turns away again, gazing longingly through the hallway of forgotten art. “My brothers are busy ripping this world to pieces between them,” she says. “Fighting a useless war in an attempt to spite the other like two children laying ownership to the same toy and refusing to share.” She shakes her head. “I want no part of it. So far, I have stayed out of their conflict and so I will remain. But that does not mean that I have to stand passive.” She smiles at Arika over her shoulder. “I would not have your city of wonders lost to this mindless battle, so let me do what I can to protect it.”

The only angels Arika has ever been near are the dogs of heaven. Those she can read easily, like the pages of an open book. She doubts Uriel is as powerless against her gift, but judging from what she picks up from the archangel Uriel is sincere in her request.

It is a risk, but one outweighed by the gain. “Show me your wings,” Arika says and Uriel gives her a strange look. “I would have proof you are who you claim to be.”

Arika almost takes a step back as Uriel's black wings unfurl without warning, stretching from wall to wall and still only partly unfolded.

Arika nods and the wings disappear as if they never were.

“Very well,” she says. “Your offer is a generous one - as Queen of Helena, I accept it.”

Uriel unsheathes her sword and before Arika has a chance to bitterly regret trusting in her intuition, she falls to her knee before her, blade resting on her open palms.

“You have my sword,” she says, eyes firmly fixed on Arika's.

  
  


**II.** _imaginarium_

The Gallery becomes their customary meeting place. Uriel is an recurrent if erratic visitor and Arika's wanderings of the silent, echoing corridors have increased since her first encounter with the archangel.

She has, however, never seen Uriel anywhere outside of the Gallery.

“You truly do have their undivided loyalty,” Uriel says, casually falling into step next to Arika in her garden.

Arika is startled by her unexpected arrival, but nothing in her demeanor reveals it. “Yes,” she says, “but even I would have great difficulty explaining the presence of an archangel in Helena.”

She had not known that Uriel spent time in Helena, but it makes sense. If she found it fascinating enough to offer it her protection, she must wish to get to know it.

“I am careful,” Uriel says, but the smile on her face makes Arika wonder if she even knows the meaning of the word. What immortal creature would?

“This is my life's work,” Arika says. "And, more importantly, the home of thousands. I would not have it put at risk.”

“Are you threatening me?” Uriel's voice betrays nothing and she has bent down to pluck a rose from a bush so Arika cannot see her face.

“If any harm comes to Helena I will search the world over for a way to kill an archangel,” Arika says.

Uriel straightens. “That won't be necessary.” She takes Arika's hand in hers, an surprising act of intimacy. “I promise you.” She smiles wickedly and makes a small curtsey, offering Arika the rose. “My queen.”

  
  


One night, Arika wakes to the sound of music trickling through the hallways of her residence. It is very faint and at first she thinks it a dream, but as she wakes properly, she realizes it comes from somewhere inside the building.

She leaves her bed and follows the sound without bothering to put on a robe over her night-gown. With every step, the music grows louder, leading her to an unused room at the back of the building. The door is unlocked and she pushes the handle down gently and steps inside as the music hits a crescendo.

Uriel twirls across the floor, arms extended and hair swirling around her head in a streak of white in the darkened room. It is an enthralling vision, Uriel moving her body through the dance with impeccable, graceful control. Her feet hardly seems to touch the floor.

A long while passes until Uriel completes another twirl and turns, catching sight of Arika. She tenses visibly.

“I did not know you where there,” she says, walking over to the gramophone and lifting the needle, the music halting with a soft screech.

“I didn't mean to intrude,” Arika says. “But you are, in fact, in my home.”

“Yes,” Uriel says, a fingertip running along the edge of the vinyl disc. “I found Tchaikovsky in your Gallery and could not resist. I did not mean to disturb your rest.”

“Where did you learn to dance?” Arika asks, feeling vaguely guilty for stepping in on something so evidently personal.

“It was a long time ago. A different century.” Uriel smiles sadly at Arika over her shoulder.

The ability to get under anyone's skin, to find the cracks in any person's facade and open them up to get what she needs is what makes Arika a such skilled negotiator, such a good Queen. She knows how to read people – how to decipher them like child's play. She learns what there is to know about them and uses their strengths to her advantage, finds their weaknesses and exploits them. Up until this moment, Uriel has given very little, but now a crack is laid bare, vulnerable and obvious.

“You admire us,” she says.

“Do not flatter yourself,” Uriel says, her melancholy seemingly swept away. “But, yes, I do hold an appreciation of the marvels your brethren are able to create. For all your warring and destruction, you have brought beautiful things into this world, into existence. So much beauty,” she says, looking right at Arika.

Arika walks up to her next to the gramophone and gently replaces the needle. The music fills the hall anew. “You are always welcome here,” she tells Uriel and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

  
  


When she travels to New Delphi the week after to iron out a deal for grain with the mayor, she spots a gramophone record of Chopin in the collection of old world goods he so proudly shows off. It is easy, convincing him to throw it in on the deal for friendship's sake.

She leaves it in the Gallery, beneath the Picasso, and when she revisits the place a few nights later, it is gone. In it's place is a small jewelery box, containing a pair of beautiful earrings.

It does not take her long before she figures out how to put them together to make them emit a signal of pale blue light and she is rather sure she can guess who it is supposed to reach. It is a valuable gift and she makes a point of always leaving them in, in case she would need them.

  
  


**III.** _time was there, but without meaning_

“I thought your pledge was to protect Helena - not my honor,” Arika says. She has grown used to Uriel's random coming and goings and has given her free reign of most of her residence.

“Are they not one and the same?” Uriel asks. She lounging in the chair in front of Arika's desk, opting for playing it nonchalant.

“Helena would gain little if my business associates keep ending up eviscerated,” Arika says, albeit with a smile. “Something you know as well as I.”

Uriel leans her head back against the back of the chair, gazing up at Arika. “You know very well why I did it,” she says.

Arika turns from her, moving over to the window facing out across her city. Defiantly, it is sprawling with life in the face of heaven's threatening war, and something warm moves within her heart at the thought of what they have built here, from the ground up.

She does not hear Uriel move and the feel of her hands closing around her arms makes her tense in surprise for a brief second.

“Arika...” Uriel whispers, breath hot against her neck.

Arika's eyes remain fixed on the view from her window. Love weakens a queen. Love has the ability to rob one of both sense and focus. Involving herself with such tenuous an ally – and such malevolent an enemy should the tables turn – would not be a wise thing to do.

On the other hand, there is nothing that can strength an alliance as well as a deeply held affection.

Uriel laughs against the nape of Arika's neck, the sound like a caress down her spine. “My ever-plotting queen,” she mumbles, an undertone of tenderness in her voice. “Do the scales weigh in my favor or do I stand condemned?”

They don't, not quite, but even so Arika turns in Uriel's arms, letting her own fold over the archangel's shoulders. Reaching up, she curls her fingers around Uriel's neck and slides their mouth together, Uriel inhaling sharply in surprise.

Uriel tastes like the oranges she is always stealing from the garden, Arika learns as she licks Uriel's mouth open.

Uriel's arm clasp around her waist, dragging Arika in closer as she returns the kiss with equal fervor. The handle of her sword digs into Arika's side and without breaking the kiss she lets her hands fall to Uriel's side, unclasping her belt.

Cupping her face in gentle hands, Uriel bites down on her lips, deepening the kiss with a soft moan. Impatient with pent-up lust, Arika grabs her wrist and guides it to the clasp on her dress, and Uriel dutifully removes it, pulling the fabric aside and letting it fall to the floor.

Meanwhile, Arika's hands has busied themselves with Uriel's armor, but she makes an irritated noise as Uriel's shoulder guard refuses to budge beneath her fingers. Uriel laughs and kisses her nose before removing it herself with practiced motions. The rest of her armor falls away easily beneath Arika's ministrations and she revels in the contact of skin against skin, the planes of Uriel's back soft and welcoming to her touch.

She walks them slowly backwards to the adjoining door to her bedroom and makes sure to lock it once they are safely on the other side. Uriel begins to remove her underwear, but Arika simply kisses her and pushes her down on the bed. Resisting Uriel attempts to drag her down with her, she backs up a step and moves her hands behind her, unclasping her bra with a quick movement and tossing it aside.

Uriel's eyes are fixed on her hands as she hooks two fingers under the edge of her underwear and slides them down her thighs, her skin growing pleasantly hot under Uriel's appraising gaze. Slowly, she moves atop Uriel on the bed, taking her mouth in a deep, languid kiss.

She pulls back slightly and Uriel's beautiful, wicked smile makes the heat pooling low in her stomach burn even hotter. The pale column of Uriel's throat bruises easily under her mouth and the rush of power alighting her insides at the thought of having one of heaven's mightiest creatures spread out for her touch is tremendously enjoyable.

Curling one arm beneath Uriel's back, Arika rolls so that she is on the bottom, Uriel lifting up on her elbows to hold some of her weight off her. Arika spreads her thighs around her, twining one leg over her hip to press their cunts together, hot and intimate. Grabbing a handful of Uriel's ass in a firm grope, she pushes up against Uriel, guides them into a slow, rolling rhythm.

Their lips meet for another series of long, harsh kisses, Uriel eagerly swallowing down the sound of Arika's moans, her panting breaths. Arika's hand travels slowly from Uriel's shoulder, across the corded muscle and the soft tickling sensation of small, raised hairs on her arm, over the slope of her ribs, the plane of her stomach, and down between their bodies, between Uriel's legs.

“Arika,” Uriel mumbles in her ear as Arika moves her fingers against her, inside her. “Arika,” she repeats, lips nudging at Arika's jaw and chin and Arika opens her mouth for her again, closing her eyes as Uriel kisses the breath right out of her.

The faint redness behind her eyelids turns black and she looks up. Above them Uriel's wings have materialized and spread out over them, a canopy darker than the star-spangled night outside. The feathers are soft to the touch, Arika learns as she lets her free hand drift gently across the length of one wing. It reacts to her, flexing carefully in response. It is a fascinating thing, the intricate patterns of delicate feathers covering the strength of thin, steel-solid bones beneath them.

Under the aegis of Uriel's wings, they make love long into the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
